With one final gulp, Alaric tore away, leaving a ragged, bloody hole in the man's neck. The body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Alaric's gaze flicked to the woman, who was now trembling in horror, tears streaming down her face as she looked at the lifeless form of her lover. Her screams had drawn the attention of the villagers, who began to emerge from their homes, eyes wide with shock and fear.
Alaric stood tall amidst the chaos, a grotesque figure bathed in blood, his long white hair cascading down his back, glistening like moonlight. He savored the fear that filled the air, breathing it in deeply as he prepared for what would come next. The village was now awake, and he was hungry for more.
---
The night air was thick with tension as Alaric relished the chaos he had wrought. Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the village, and a searing pain blossomed in his shoulder. He glanced down to see a bullet wound forming, blood oozing out on his pale skin. But the pain was fleeting; within moments, his body responded, the flesh spitting out the bullet and knitting itself back together with unnatural speed.
Alaric's expression twisted into a predatory smile as he turned his gaze toward the source of the shot. He twisted his head sharply, the sound of bone cracking echoing in the night. The villagers gasped as he locked eyes with the man who dared to interrupt his feast.
With a single, fluid motion, Alaric lunged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. He grasped the man with an iron grip, lifting him off the ground. Fear shone in the man's eyes, but before he could cry out, Alaric's ripped out his tongue. This time, it was not just the thrill of blood that drove him; it was a primal need to assert dominance.
As Alaric fed, he felt the rush of warmth filling him. The man's struggles soon subsided, and Alaric reveled in the power he held over his prey. The villagers stood frozen, horror etched across their faces, as they witnessed the unnatural display of strength and ferocity.
Once he had taken what he desired, Alaric released the man, letting his body drop to the ground with a thud. He stood tall, blood dribbling down his chin, his sharp teeth stained with blood . The woman who had cried for her lover rushed forward, her face twisted in anguish, collapsing next to the lifeless form.
Alaric felt a strange tug at his heart—a fleeting emotion as he watched her grief unfold. In an act of grotesque defiance, he reached down and pulled out his own heart, holding it aloft as if to mock the fragility of life around him. It pulsed faintly in his hand, a symbol of the darkness that now defined him.
The woman's wails filled the night, a sound of pure despair that resonated with the villagers as they began to realize the horror that had befallen them. Alaric, still grinning, took a step back, allowing the weight of his actions to hang in the air, a promise of the terror yet to come.
Alaric watched the woman's anguish with a strange mix of fascination and irritation. Her cries pierced the night, a mournful wail that echoed off the village walls. In a moment of twisted compassion—or perhaps just a desire for silence—he held out his still-pulsing heart toward her, a grotesque offering meant to quell her sorrow.
"Take it," he said, his voice a raspy whisper, raw from disuse. "It's the only way to stop your pain."
But instead of reaching for the heart, she recoiled in horror, her screams growing louder, more frantic. "No! No!" she cried, tears streaming down her face as she realized the true horror of what had transpired. Her rejection of his gift ignited a spark of rage within Alaric, a feeling foreign to him after centuries of slumber.Countless humans had fought to have his heart, as it could heal any illness if consumed on the spot.How dare this insolent woman reject such a sacred gift.
With a swift, fluid motion, Alaric closed the distance between them. He grasped her head in one hand, his fingers curling around her skull with unsettling strength. The woman's eyes widened in terror, and for a fleeting moment, Alaric felt a flicker of hesitation. But the noise—the unbearable noise—had to end.
In a swift, brutal twist, he turned her head with a sickening crack. Her body went limp, eyes wide and unseeing, the life drained from them in an instant. Alaric released her, letting her body fall to the ground beside her lover, an eerie silence settling over the scene as the villagers looked on in horror.
With a primal roar that echoed through the night, Alaric succumbed to the bloodlust that surged within him. The brief moment of hesitation vanished, replaced by a ravenous hunger that drove him forward. He turned toward the villagers, who were now scrambling in panic, their screams mixing with the night air.
"ITS A DEMON!" they cried, but their pleas only fueled his frenzy. Alaric dashed into the throng with supernatural speed, his long white hair flowing behind him like a spectral banner. He grabbed one villager, a man who stumbled in his haste, and with a swift, brutal motion, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh.
Alaric felt his body pulse with newfound energy as he tore through the crowd, his laughter echoing in the chaos. He reveled in the sheer terror he instilled, the way the villagers' eyes widened in disbelief as he appeared before them like a ghost from their worst nightmares. He flung the heart—the one that had pulsed in his hand moments ago—into the air. It spun lazily before crashing to the ground, reducing to ashes as if it had never existed at all. In its place, a new heart emerged within him, a dark and powerful organ that thudded with the rhythm of his unholy existence.
Blood splattered the cobblestones as Alaric dispatched villager after villager, their screams turning to gurgles as life drained from them. He moved with a terrifying grace, each strike precise and merciless.
As he stood among the carnage, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood, Alaric felt a wild exhilaration wash over him. Each fallen villager fed his insatiable hunger, each scream a note in the symphony of chaos. The village—once a quaint, bustling place—now lay in ruin, a haunting reminder of his awakening from centuries of slumber.
He paused, surveying the destruction, his breath heavy with the thrill of the hunt. The darkness of the night embraced him, and he reveled in the knowledge that he was once again alive, free to unleash the instincts that had lain dormant for so long.
Alaric cackled into the night, a sound filled with both joy and madness, as he prepared to claim this new world for himself.
Bathed in the thick, crimson fluid of the slain villagers, Alaric reveled in the intoxicating rush of power that coursed through him. The weight of his new heart thrummed in his chest, and he stood amidst the carnage, his skin slick and glistening under the pale moonlight. The night air was heavy with the scent of iron and decay, a heady perfume that sharpened his senses. Yet, even in the aftermath of his rampage, he still felt that insistent call.
Listening intently, Alaric's predatory instincts honed in on a faint sound. It was not the hurried footsteps of fleeing villagers but the soft, desperate breathing of a single individual nearby. He turned, his eyes narrowing with anticipation, and took off into the shadows with blinding speed, his long hair streaming behind him like a banner of death.